


Just a few hours

by black_box_boy



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:34:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_box_boy/pseuds/black_box_boy
Summary: After the loss of his father and great grandmother, Manolo reflects on the day he’s had.
Kudos: 5





	Just a few hours

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom is kind of dead and I haven’t written for it since 2014 but Here’s something someone on tumblr asked me to write

This isn’t his forte. None of this has ever been his forte. 

When he was younger, it was always his father who consoled him. Who rubbed his back and reassured him that loved ones are never truly gone. 

Just a few hours ago, it was his grandmother who consoled him. Who pulled the attention away from his failure in the ring and gave him hope for his future with Maria. 

But now, standing in his dimly lit home inside the arena, manolo is alone with his emotions. There’s no one around to reassure him, no one to give him advice, no one to pat his back and say everything will be ok. The light of the candles on three distinct alters feels all to bright for his tired eyes. Eyes that have seen the afterlife and lived to tell the tale. Eyes that watched his lover go pale in his arms and later say I do. Eyes that threatened to spill tears at the look of pure hatred shot at him by his childhood best friend. And eyes that had to watch as the last of his family was lowered into the ground. 

He almost can’t believe it’s only been a few hours. 

This was the day he always dreamed of since he was a child. The day he finally married Maria with his best friend by his side. He should be so happy. But somehow all he can think of is his grandmothers pale blue lips and his fathers terrified eyes. Their cold bodies being placed in carved wooden caskets and slowly lowered into the ground, side by side. Right next to his mother, and all the rest of the Sanchez’s that he met just a few hours ago. 

Manolo almost wishes that he could get yelled at again. That his father could shout at him for failing at his first fight. That his grandmother would scowl or make a comment about his hair. He wants the clacking of knitting needles and the echo of boots on concrete. He wants something, anything, to prove that he’s alive and that he’s not all alone in the world. 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath and tries to feel them in the room. He begs for a rush of warmth, for the flicker of a candle, anything to reassure him that his family is here. In the very back of his mind, he can hear his fathers words from so many years ago. 

‘As long as we remember them, we can feel their presence with us for once night each year’ 

And though he knows they’ll never be forgotten, that doesn’t bring them back.


End file.
